


The Last Request

by howterrifying



Series: The Denial Mode Series [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24018856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howterrifying/pseuds/howterrifying
Summary: If we don't say goodbye, perhaps it means we don't have to.(written 27 April 2015)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Denial Mode Series [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732471
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	The Last Request

**Author's Note:**

> The Denial Mode Series began in the midst of me struggling to get through my soap opera of a multi-chapter fic, The Admirer. In between, as a sort of refresher, and also as my way of ‘denying’ I had stuff to work on, I would call out for these prompts. The call was to either send me a single word or a single song. I received all sorts of lovely responses and these are the stories that developed from them. They mean a lot to me and I remember every single one of them from just looking at their titles. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) x
> 
> ::
> 
> theprivatelifeofsherlockholmes asked: Every time we say goodbye - Ray Charles and Betty Carter :-)
> 
> What do you do when the fanfic writer you stan for gives you a prompt? Well, you freak out, of course. I know I did, haha. Nevertheless, what a gorgeous song this is! I quite literally melted. Am still melting, to be honest. I hope I did your song choice justice! x
> 
> “There’s no love song finer, but how strange the change from major to minor,  
> Everytime we say goodbye.”

**The Last Request**

“You’re going to regret this,” said Mycroft, fiddling with the skull on the mantlepiece.  
“No. I won’t.” Sherlock answered swiftly. “Leave the skull alone.”  
“I disagree.” the elder Holmes brother remarked. “Nevertheless, I did ask for your last request. So I shall keep my word.”

The restaurant had been emptied, as Sherlock had requested. Angelo himself was the one making the _penne alla puttanesca_ \- the only thing Sherlock ever ate at the restaurant if he did choose to eat. His brother’s question rang in his ears as he made his way to the restaurant. _Is there one last thing I can do for you before you leave us — London, for good?_

The detective smirked to himself when he recalled how his brother had scoffed at his answer. _Just dinner. At Angelo’s. By myself. I might as well get something to eat. A final meal before death row_. Indeed, there was no other way to call it. He was being sent back to Eastern Europe where he would serve, and therefore die.

The car pulled up to the vacant restaurant. To Sherlock’s surprise, all the tables had little candles on them, flickering away dreamily. _Nice touch, Mycroft_ , he thought to himself, amused, as he pushed open the door. Music was playing softly from a jukebox tucked in the corner of a restaurant. The detective found himself smiling. It was a nice tune — soothing and uncomplicated.

“Sit yourself wherever you like, Sherlock,” said Angelo in that familiar gruff voice of his.   
“Thank you,” he replied, picking a table for two right in the middle of the restaurant.

He chose that spot because it emphasised how empty the restaurant was and how he was the only one in there. Sherlock always found it easier being alone. It meant he could get things done, and no one would get in the way. More importantly, no one would get hurt.

The jukebox clicked as it switched to another song, stirring him from his thoughts. Just then, Angelo walked over with the wine he had ordered, pouring him a glass. Sherlock peered into his glass, swirling the liquid before taking a whiff, and then a sip. His food finally arrived as a plate with gleaming pasta and steaming olives appeared in front of him.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

That was not Angelo’s voice and the detective looked up sharply.

“I was told you’d be here,” said Molly, decked in a simple dark green dress, “And that you needed company.”  
“I—”  
“Say no more,” she said, taking her seat whilst Angelo served her her food, “I know you’d rather I wasn’t here.”

Not that he was obliging her, but Sherlock simply did not know what to say. Molly, who knew how to operate around Sherlock, simply began eating, not attempting to make any conversation whatsoever. When they were done, Molly took a sip of her wine and then stood up. She walked over to the jukebox, the click of her heels piercing the vacant air of the restaurant.

“Don’t misunderstand,” she said quietly, as she fiddled with the knobs on the jukebox, “I’m only acting on instruction.”  
“My brother’s?” asked Sherlock.  
“Yup.” she said, pushing the button which selected the song.

The song was mellow, warm and quiet. The emptiness of the restaurant meant the song was particularly clear, as though the singers were right there in the room with them. Molly stepped towards Sherlock. She seemed a little nervous, but managed a smile. Sherlock only registered one emotion - confusion.

“Right. It’s time to dance.” Molly said, gingerly extending her hand forward to Sherlock.

To her surprise, he took her hand without any hesitation. He got up to his feet, automatically wrapped an arm around her waist and positioned her other hand properly in his. Together, the pair of them danced, slowly and steadily. When the song came to its end, Sherlock lifted Molly’s hand and twirled her gently around, igniting gentle smiles on both their faces.

The pair of them parted, but he made sure to keep both her hands in his.

“You gonna be okay?” Molly asked quietly.   
“I’ll be fine. I always am.” he said with his signature smirk.   
“Good. Then my job here is done.” she said.

She reached up to kiss him gently on the cheek. Molly paused and took a moment to look right into his eyes. They were so beautiful, and she was told she was never going to see them again. Sighing quietly, she kissed him once more on the other cheek. She did not quite know what to do now, and so occupied herself with straightening the lapels of his jacket.

“Molly,” he said, placing his hands gently over her busy ones.   
“Hmm?” she replied, her eyes looking straight at his collar, not wanting to lift her gaze.   
“You gonna be okay?” he whispered, lowering his head as he tried to catch her gaze.   
“No,” she said, with a furtive smile, “But I’ll do my best.”   
“Maybe give Tom another go?” he said with a little smirk. “He’s…not too bad, you know.”  
“Of all people to tell me that,” she remarked, amused.

He smiled at her response and drew her carefully to himself, delicately wrapping his arms around her. He tilted his head, so he could feel the softness of her hair against the side of his face. It was only then that Sherlock discovered the one downside to being alone - there would be none of _this_. What was worse, it was not the embrace, nor the softness of hair mattered to him. It was the fact that it was _hers_.

“I heard you’re going to die,” she whispered.   
“If you must know,” he answered quietly, “I already have.”

Sherlock pulled apart from her, bent to kiss her firmly and a little desperately on the lips, then walked out without a word. This was one goodbye he could not say. Perhaps if he did not say it, it might not have to be goodbye after all.

That was his hope anyway.

**END**


End file.
